And having seen her "Princess" safely ensconced in the attic, she
rifled the stocking, and returned to the _coiffeur_.

When she emerged from the shop, the vindictive endurance had vanished
from her face, and in its place reigned an angelic exaltation.




XII


Eleven days later Madame Valière and Madame Dépine set out on
the great expedition to the hairdresser's to try on the Wig. The
"Princess's" excitement was no less tense than the fortunate winner's.
Neither had slept a wink the night before, but the November morning
was keen and bright, and supplied an excellent tonic. They conversed
with animation on the English in Egypt, and Madame Dépine recalled the
gallant death of her son, the _chasseur_.

The _coiffeur_ saluted them amiably. Yes, mesdames, it was a beautiful
morning. The wig was quite ready. Behold it there--on its block.

Madame Valière's eyes turned thither, then grew clouded, and returned
to Madame Dépine's head and thence back to the Grey Wig.

"It is not this one?" she said dubiously.

"_Mais, oui_." Madame Dépine was nodding, a great smile
transfiguring the emaciated orb of her face. The artist's eyes